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Chapter 6: Aftershocks
Summer, 1945
Gittle was confused when she saw Cousin Eva waiting for her in the courtyard. She had not expected to see her again. Eva greeted her as if they parted just recently. She looked the same as the child had remembered, she wore the same winter coat, and if she noticed any change in the child, she didn't let it show. She thanked Miss Margaret, and taking Gittle by the hand, they left.
She wanted to be told where they were going, wanted to know why did they leave her, and who was alive. Did they think she would be? Did her Aunt think Eva would find her? But Eva walked in quiet, she didn't ask questions and she offered no explanation. Was she disappointed to find her? Her family didn't need her. Eva must have wondered on her way to the convent, seeing the demolished buildings of Buda, if she would find her alive. Perhaps the cross in the chapel protected them, as Miss Margaret had said.
There were a lot of people on the streets. This was early summer already, and people walked in the middle of the streets where the debris was cleaned away. There could be no other transportation, the streets were still full of gaping holes. They walked slowly in the warm, sunny afternoon, along the river towards a bridge. The bridge was still very far and it didn't look like it would be possible to cross it, the half towards Buda had fallen into the Danube below.
There were men working in groups along the way, gathering the ruins of the destroyed buildings into large containers, then carrying them to makeshift wheelbarrows which were large enough so several people were needed to push one. One nearly overturned, just then, as they were passing close by, and the men swore in unison. Yet, these men didn't have the hopeless, defeated countenance she had remembered seeing on the workers during the war. Eva offered the first information, "Every man has to work a number of hours each week. They call it labour service." The girl was thinking it over. It wasn't easy. Her mind has been numb for so long, trained not to think or question. But these men did not seem like the once she had last seen clearing the rubbish. That was in the beginning of winter. Before the convent. Those were Jewish men, wearing yellow armbands, guarded by the uniformed Nazi guards who yelled their orders, with their guns pointing at backs of the silently working men. "Jewish?" the girl finally asked. "No." Eva didn't add, that there were not many able-bodied Jewish men left in the city.
The new bridge was a hastily built wooden structure erected between some of the still standing steel supports of the old bridge. Large wood planks seemed barely strong enough to support the stream of people coming and going. There were spaces between the planks, as they didn't fit together properly and some moved under their feet as they walked. Only pedestrians were allowed on the bridge. Those who had bicycles had to push it across. This was the only bridge that could be used at all, and that explained the heavy traffic.
The people seemed eager to get somewhere. They were all dressed like they were ready to grab a shovel if need be. Gone were the white shirts and ties, high heels, lipstick and jewellery. The greyness of the war was still very much present, even if the sun was shining and the weather was warm. But there were no shots to be heard anywhere, and Eva didn't appear to be scared. And she didn't wear the Jewish Star.
On the Pest side, the world seemed more quiet. There were houses in ruins, all had damages of bullets, many windows were still nailed shut with wood, but there were whole rows of houses standing, not like on the Buda side where whole blocks were in ruins. The sidewalks were cleared in most places, and people were walking everywhere. And there were no Jewish Stars on the buildings.
But there was colour, splashes of red in almost every block as the wind stretched the red Soviet flags. In the middle of the red flags pictures of a sickle and a hammer in white on every one of them. Huge portraits of two men were displayed with the flags, their names written in large, black block letters in red background. Their pictures looked much friendlier than did Hitler's. Lenin looked kind, and someone whose help you wouldn't refuse, but Gittle liked the pictures of Stalin more. Stalin reminded her of her father with his wide shoulders and his moustache and his proud posture. There were no swastikas displayed with the pictures.
She would have liked to ask Eva who these men were, but Eva seemed comfortable in the quiet of her thoughts.
When they turned the corner to her Aunt's street, she realized with a shock that she could read the sign; Kohary Street. This street, too, was in relative good shape. Not one direct hit in the whole block just bullet holes and broken windows.
Aunt Hermina greeted her with a hug, and the child thought she was glad to see her. Perhaps she was glad to see she was alive. Marika was as pretty as she had remembered her. The smell of cooking hit her stomach with unexpected force, and Aunt Hermina didn't waste time to feed her. The soup had a real soupy taste, a taste she now found in her memory, but had not been able to recall before. She could hardly control herself not to show how hungry she was as her stomach craved for food. They didn't ask her any questions and they talked about how they would get food for tomorrow.
Without asking, her Aunt filled her plate with more soup. They tried to eye her so she wouldn't be too uncomfortable, only Marika asked if she had any other clothes. While Eva and the child ate the Aunt was busy frying donuts. This was very special, somehow the Aunt had managed to trade something for lard, which had the value of gold, and she was very proud of herself. They all ate donuts together, and they approved it loudly. Her aunt only gave her one, because she thought too much food at once might be too heavy for her stomach. And it was. She was very tired, the long walk, the good food... and the new situation was getting too much to cope with, and her eyelids wanted to close.
Aunt Hermina, forever sensitive to the feelings of others, tried to find out if she had lice. She said they all had had a bad case of it, and before Gittle went to bed her hair should be treated. Her girls were cleaning up after supper and the Aunt sat up a chair in the small room next to the kitchen, that didn't have a maid living in it for a long time.
The child was seated and her shoulders covered with old towels. Aunt Hermina proudly showed her the bottle of benzine that she had, just for occasions like this. She told the child to bend her head backward and hold a towel to her eyes, just in case, then she slowly began pouring the benzine on her head.
The sudden convulsion that shook the child's body panicked the Aunt.
"Did it go into your eyes? I'm so sorry, was it too cold? I'm sorry."
The unexpected pain started tears flowing from Gittle's eyes. When she could finally talk, she managed to whisper, "It hurts."
"How could this hurt? Maybe it was too cold." Auntie carefully parted the sticky, messy hair with a comb, and her face twisted with emotion as she wordlessly showed to her daughters the child's scalp covered with scabs. The benzine had irritated the sores, and opened them up.
There wasn't much to say after that. The Aunt seemed to feel the child's pain, Eva's face showed compassion, and Marika looked disgusted with the whole thing. And the child felt ashamed. Ashamed for being the dirty package she was, ashamed for causing all this trouble for her Aunt.
Aunt Hermina wiped the child's tears along with her own, and said that the only way she could see to get rid of the lice and her scalp to heal properly, is to cut off her hair. The child didn't care.
The Aunt began to cut, slowly, carefully. She held up small clumps of hair, and cut close to the scalp, but mindful of the sores under her scissors.
Water was being boiled, and the Aunt washed her off with a washcloth and soap, rinsed her head with clean water not using any soap, so it would not be irritated further. The girls went to bed already, and Gittle was falling asleep on her feet. All that time, Aunt Hermina was talking to her, telling her how fast her hair will grow, but she was beyond caring, she just wanted to sleep.
There was a single bed in the maid's room her aunt made up for her. She gratefully lay under the cover unable to respond to say good night.
She slept fitfully, waking up, not wanting to think about her hair or tomorrow. The small room seemed airless. She could see some furniture and bags piled in the corner. She held her breath as she heard shuffle of slippers in the kitchen. Someone had a glass of water. She was wondering if her aunt could not sleep because she had regrets about taking her in. Even though she had left her for the convent, she liked her Aunt Hermina. She didn't want to go back to the nuns.
She was tossing and turning in the strange place, in the bed alone, before she could relax with her arm under her head. She was half-asleep with one arm under her head, when she realized the soothing, long forgotten familiar smell was coming from her arm. The smell of soap, the smell of clean. She inhaled the smell of her skin and fell asleep.
She woke to the aroma of breakfast. She managed to avert her eyes, and didn't look in the mirror in the bathroom. The Aunt said she had found a nice kerchief for her head, and she should look in the mirror to see it wasn't so bad.
The cloth covered most of her head, but in the front, uneven pieces of short hair was sticking out and up, exposing the ugly dark crust of the scabs.
The family went to their separate ways, and she was left in the apartment.
Everything was dusty and used looking in the house, the furniture lost its lustre, yet they were lucky they had at least that.
Aunt Hermina asked her to come along, one day, they were going to meet the others of the family. It was sad to see, as they walked, this once beautiful and proud city in ruins. In many ways people still lived under war like conditions. There was, still, no electricity, no transportation, the drinking water still had to be boiled, food was scarce. Rats seemed to be everywhere, and bedbugs flourished on the half-starved bodies. But the bombs had stopped falling, the surviving Jews breathed easier, and the business of life continued above the ground.
The Mandel store on Hunyady Square used to be Budapest's number one delicatessen, with its exotic smells of coffee mingled with wondrous smells of spices and chocolates. Now, the Square, in front of the store was nothing but a maze of street vendors selling or, rather, trading everything from old shoes to old toys. Gone were the flower stalls; no flowers grow in war. There were large holes in the ground in place of the walks that took you around the Square, gone were the inviting green metal benches under ancient trees.
She couldn't have found the store alone, although she had remembered its location. There was no MANDEL'S sign, no sign at all. It was just one of the many stores with broken shutters. It was dark inside the store, after the sunlight of the streets, the dusty shelves all empty, and the store smelled the same as the outside; the smell of decay.
The relatives seemed oddly out of place in the rear of the dark, empty store. They sat on old chairs and wooden boxes, a small group, looking grim. They were eyeing the child as she stood awkwardly; Aunt Serena without a smile on her face, her daughter Cousin Bozsi, with her large body, her face heavily made up not looking as if she had gone through hard times, and her husband Uncle Guszti.
They were looking at the child curiously, as if she were an alien creature or a strange bug they had never seen. Aunt Hermina tried to make light of her lice and the dark spots, the marks of old scabs, on her forehead. Cousin Bozsi was the only one addressing the child directly. In her loud, demanding voice she said, "Well, aren't you going to thank Uncle Guszti?" The stupid girl obviously needed help to understand. She was looking back at her cousin, not reacting. "He had saved your life." the Cousin was helping. The child had no clue what she meant, she last saw Uncle Guszti at the offices of the Jewish Council when he handed her over to the strange lady who had left her at the door of the convent.
Uncle Guszti looked at her expectantly, and Gittle turning to him said, "Thank you." The Uncle with his false smile proudly said, "You're welcome." Now her life was paid for with a thank you. She thought it was a fair enough exchange.
Not knowing why, she was embarrassed for them all.
x x x
In her dream she was standing at one end of, what seemed like, a very large place. In the near darkness of the place she could just make out the endless rows of coffins. The coffins were lined up in a single row as if on a conveyor belt. She could see no end to the rows of coffins as they were coming, very slowly, towards her. There was constant movement as the moving belt turned just in front of her and the coffins moved away. Mysteriously others appeared from the grey mist. Those, too, would move further down the line as others appeared and disappeared in the fine mist or smoke that rose in the back of the room. She could see only so far, yet she knew there was no wall at the far end, or on either sides. Only the coffins closest to her were visible. They were all the same; made of old wood, all grey with black smoke streaks, as if they had been through a fire. She felt no fear, she knew the dead were harmless. There was an onerous sadness to the distant mournful chanting, its rhythm she sensed as praying, but could scarcely hear. She knew her parents were among the dead, and she felt she was there to attend their funeral. Nothing was expected of her, she was there to observe.
There were few shadows moving around where she was standing, never coming close enough to see the faces. Although her body felt stiff, she understood she was not dead. There were small children running around playing.
She knew Gyurika was not among them. The children were much younger than she was, they moved freely with smiles on their face. They behaved as children normally would, but their movements were noiseless, their laughter silent.
She didn't know any of the children, yet they did not seem like strangers. A sense of her sister's present lingered, although she could not be seen.
She stood there feeling the weight of the dead on her soul, heavy and disappearing. Through the smoke, she could see the flickers of distant candles, but she realized they were not lit to celebrate, but to honour the dead.
When she awoke feeling wretched and alone, the dream didn't feel strange at all. She could not relate to the playing children in the dream, but the endless coffins felt like the affirmation of the present.
x x x
Aunt Hermina came home one day, and as soon as she closed the front door, she excitedly called Gittle. She had a surprise for her. A group of children were being taken for a two week summer vacation to Zagreb, Yugoslavia. She had managed to get Gittle on the list. The train would leave in two days time, and now she has to start washing her things to get her ready.
Going somewhere strange again. No, that was not happy news as the Aunt thought. They did not expect her to jump from joy, so her placid reaction was taken for consent.
There were about twenty-five children on the train, all orphans. Some with smiling faces, others looking unfriendly and suspicious just as Gittle did. She sat at the window looking out, trying to keep her stomach down. Travelling really didn't agree with her. It was a long train ride, especially since she did not know what to expect at the end of it. She was prone to be more nauseous when she felt anxious about something.
It was late afternoon when the train arrived. The woman who had accompanied the children on the journey called their name from a list, and they were seated on a long bench in the station, while a group of adults, mainly couples, looked on with interest. Soon it became evident that those were the people whose house the children were to stay. Each couple picked out a child, a child whose face appealed to them, using the same technique they would picking a piece of fruit. Healthy looking, smiling, attractive children were picked first, naturally.
The woman in charge made notes on her list, and the couples, one by one, left the station with a child. Then there were no more adults, but there were two children left.
The woman was clearly agitated and more so as time went by. She checked her watch every few minutes, and finally she turned to talk to the two girls. She had to catch the train back, she said. They should stay on the bench and wait, the people who wanted them would be there shortly. For sure. Then she turned, and left the two children sitting on the bench, in a strange city in a strange country.
They were sitting motionless for a while, each trying to fathom this new development in vain. Will someone really come to get them?
After a while then they began to fidget, then stood up and sat down again, creating movements that allowed them to take a look at each other without having to admit to it. And what they saw brought to them the understanding of their situation. Each saw a nearly bald, skinny, unattractive child. They were the only two in the group without hair. Gittle's head was covered with a wide, navy blue ribbon tied into a large bow in the front, covering most of the pockmarks, and her unevenly growing hair sticking out in the front like bristles.
And Gittle saw very much the same thing, without the ribbon. Aunt Hermina was very proud of being able to find that ribbon.
The two children didn't speak to each other, there was no need. They both understood clearly why the two of them had not been picked to be taken.
They spotted the couple looking for them before they were close enough to notice the children. Very much in a hurry they rushed towards the children, and without a word of greeting they took a child, each, by the hand and said in Hungarian, "Let's go."
The couple looked like they might be working for someone who had hired them to pick up two children from the orphan train. They didn't talk to the children, and they hardly talked to each other.
They walked fast on the already dark streets, the girls almost at run to keep up. Finally they turned into a gate next to, what looked like, an old synagogue. The couple lived in the small house in the back of the synagogue. Their apartment contained a large kitchen, and they stepped right into it, without the ceremony of a hall or vestibule. There was another door, leading to another room they didn't get to see, because the woman pointed towards two narrow cots at the end of the kitchen, and told them that is where they would be sleeping. When they were asked if they were hungry, they politely refused according to the rules of etiquette they had been taught, thinking they would be asked again. They were not. There was no bathroom, but an outhouse, which was the first experience for both girls. They went to bed without further talk or washing.
It was an early household. Very early. It was Sunday, but there was something going on in the synagogue, and the man of the house went to work. The girls watched him have breakfast from their beds. The couple didn't speak to each other or to the girls. When their breakfast was put on the table, the woman gestured for them to come to eat.
They were hungry, and sat quickly to eat. In the bowl front of them there was something neither girl recognized, something solid and deep yellow covered with milk. The woman finally asked them for their names. Kati was the first to taste the yellow food, made a face but continued to eat. Gittle disliked milk. She cautiously dipped her spoon in the bowl, and let the milk drip out before tasting the yellow substance. Her stomach objected to the invasion the same time the smell of it assailed her senses. "It's a cereal made of corn flour. Don't you like puliszka?" the woman asked. Gittle didn't realize she was being watched, and she couldn't trust herself to speak, so she just shook her head. "We eat a lot of puliszka here." offered the woman, whose name they still didn't know.
Gittle was watching as Kati heroically, if slowly, was eating the yellow mass. Her stomach was still in turmoil, but she realized she had to try to eat some. She pushed the food around in the bowl for a while, thinking she might fool the woman, but not being able to swallow another bite. When they could finally leave the table, Gittle was no longer hungry for the very thought of food would make her sick.
They were both shy, but since there didn't seem to be anything else to do, they went out to explore the courtyard. The man they stayed with was cleaning the yard with a broom. He was the caretaker for the synagogue.
Slowly, the two girls began to talk to each other as they were walking towards the street while watching for signs from their host to stop them. The man behaved as he had not seen them at all.
There was no sign of the war in the immediate neighbourhood as they stood outside the synagogue, looking up and down the street. There was poverty, they could tell by the way people were dressed, and there was neglect. Even around the synagogue the street was littered with old newspaper and garbage. The low one floor buildings needed repair and paint, but there were not signs of bullet holes or wrecked houses.
Lunch was the same puliszka they didn't eat for breakfast. In the same bowls, its form now firmly frozen in the bowl as it cooled. By then Gittle's head was pounding from her empty stomach. How easily she had become used to being fed regularly by Aunt Hermina. Still, the food would not go down.
The woman didn't talk to them, and they sneaked out when her back was turned. They were told of no rules, no boundaries, so they began to walk further away, hoping they would find their way back to the kitchen with the cots. And if not, it didn't seem like a big loss. They found a nice street, the houses had gardens, there was no garbage on the street, and lots of trees. One large apple tree had its branches hanging out onto the street and there were green apples fallen on the sidewalk. They picked up as many as they could, and ran away with their treasures. This was more like it; they would have no problem rejecting puliszka tonight.
They lived on green apples for the next few days. Apples for breakfast, apples for lunch. They guessed that the trees were probably getting rid of the wormy apples, because they had to be careful where to bite. The couple, back at the synagogue, didn't seem to be concerned by their lack of appetite or where they had spent the day. Supper was potatoes, or squash, beets cooked into a mashed heap. But, between that and the apples they were doing well.
They spent the days on the streets and playgrounds. Kati was willing to play with the toddlers in the parks, and she earned a few coins. Strange foreign money. Gittle wanted no part of the toddlers, but Kati shared the sweets she was able to buy.
The girls were about the same age. They talked about what they encountered each day, but never about the past, as if neither child had experienced a single day of living before they met. Both locked up the past and neither wished to share it. Instead they were trying to figure out the couple who had taken them in for two weeks. Why would such poor people take in two children they, obviously, had no interest in. Perhaps it was part of their job at the synagogue. There was no sign in the house of the couple ever having children of their own. No games or toys; or perhaps their children had died of boredom coupled with hunger, they agreed. Neither said aloud what they really thought; that perhaps, the couple had wanted to adopt but they found the girls too ugly to be liked.
Then, one day as they were picking apples outside a nice garden they heard someone, "Pssst...pssst..." from the other side of the fence. They suddenly realized how careless they had become because they didn't notice anyone around. The smiling face of a little girl appeared on the other side of the fence, and she said she remembered them from the orphan train coming to Zagreb. The two girls remembered too. Judy was one of the first of the children who had been chosen. She had lovely dark hair all curled up around her smiling face. She seemed to be one of those children whose smile turns on without an effort, because they are made of sunshine.
She said her Aunt, as she called the lady of the house, had sent her to invite the two of them for cookies. All this time when they thought themselves so clever, they were observed by the occupants of the house.
The lady in the nice bright kitchen was very friendly, but the girls were feeling self-conscious of their appearance in the presence of the pretty little girl in her clean, new dress and the smiling lady who smelled of baking and flowers. They both wore crisp white aprons, and had just finished the baking. They were the picture of the perfect mother-daughter team.
The cookies were delicious, neither of them could to recall the last time they tasted anything so good. The lady asked a few questions to which they mumbled curt, shy answers, just wanting this to be over and to leave this nice place that had nothing to do with them. They were given cookies to take when they left, and they ate them, while walking in silence towards the synagogue.
The next day, without discussing it, they headed towards another street to look for apples.
There was a treat on Friday. The pool, of a sort, at the back of the of the synagogue was being cleaned for some religious ceremony. It was housed in a separate building, and the girls had been allowed to wash and swim in it before it was cleaned. It was called the mikveh. The water had an awful smell when they first dipped into it, but it was more fun than anything else they had tried lately.
There must be a time, the girls figured, when the man and the woman would talk to each other like other people. The couple seemed to know what the other wanted without verbal communication. There were single words uttered here and there, but the couple didn't seem to need full sentences. They talked to the two girls the same way, seldom as that happened.
And then, one day, their old luggage was packed, and it was time to go back to Budapest.
The same woman who had brought them, greeted them at the station for the return trip. The couple spoke a few words to the woman who marked something on her list. Two children returned. Reason; unsatisfactory. Then they left without a word to the girls. The children never been told their names.
The train carried back only about half of the group that it had brought. The rest were adopted. It was evident, even to the children, that the pretty, smiling children were the wanted ones. Judy wasn't going back with them. It was a very quiet group returning. The rejected of the rejects.
Gittle was looking for signs on the face of Aunt Hermina to see if she was disappointed to see her back. But it was the same smile, the same even voice. She had hoped they would put some flesh on Gittle's bones, she said. But there were no questions asked, and no stories offered. The child vaguely wondered about the tasty potatoes they had for supper, and how Aunt Hermina had managed to feed the four of them.
Summer was coming to an end. Schools would start later, as soon as the buildings were made habitable. Eva had been admitted to University, and they were excited about that. There was no talk about Gittle going to school.
As the days were becoming shorter, the household retired earlier. They would save on the candles, and the bed was always a warmer place. Unfortunately, the whole city had been infested with bedbugs, and the thought of them was enough to try to sit up in the dark as long as one was able. The bugs lived in the mattress along the piping, embedded around the corners. The small, dark-red, round bodied insects lived on the bodies of the living, socking the blood in one bite, leaving little spots of blood on the sheet, and red marks on the victims. It was a daily struggle to take the bed apart and rub the mattress with petrol soaked rags. When petrol was available, that is.
And life went on.